


just in case of sunrise

by princegrantaire



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday Cake, Birthday Party, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossdressing, Developing Friendships, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Clark Kent/Lois Lane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 04:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13206282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princegrantaire/pseuds/princegrantaire
Summary: Whatdoyou get for the man who has everything anyway? A skinny murderous clown, apparently.(Bruce's birthday is in a week and Clark's got some strange ideas for a present he won't forget.)





	just in case of sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a joke that got severely out of hand and by the time I realised that, well, Clark and Joker were already halfway to Paris. Let's just say, I'm all about unlikely friendships.
> 
> Major shout-out and many thanks for proof-reading and extreme emotional support to [DracoMaleficium](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoMaleficium/pseuds/DracoMaleficium)!

The Joker’s latest hideout is a haphazard mess of near incomprehensible memorabilia and the tackiest furniture Clark has ever laid eyes on. The man himself is standing stock still in the middle of the room, a sharp silhouette in purple, his one ungloved hand clutching a gun.

“Before you shoot-”

Three bullets are ricocheting off his chest before the words leave Clark’s mouth. He pretends not to notice. He’s never minded Gotham but as the Joker fires four more rounds at point blank, Clark thinks it might just be starting to get on his nerves. A tough thing to do during normal circumstances but he’s been running around all night. 

“I have a request-”

This time he’s interrupted by Joker bursting into laughter, high-pitched and most likely purposely obnoxious. Apparently he’s run out of bullets.

Tonight Clark has visited four separate amusement parks - two of which were abandoned - one warehouse and a multitude of ex-henchmen who refused to say much of anything. The Joker is difficult to find despite not having any penchant for subtlety. This old, disused motel had been his last stop and he’s glad he took the time to talk to Harley Quinn.

Clark’s got a deadline to meet and a party to help organise. If Joker interrupts him again, his one gift idea is going straight out the window.

“Look, how would you feel about being a party clown for Batman’s birthday?” Clark finally gets out and immediately regrets it. It sounds significantly worse when said out loud.

Joker practically lights up with what might be hope and Clark doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything like it, at least not on the face of a deranged clown. Then, all at once, Joker frowns and squints at Clark, suspicious, as if Superman were in the business of playing pranks on criminals.

“Are you offering me a job, Supes?”

Clark suddenly understands some small fragment of Bruce in an achingly visceral way. There’s not a single word of Joker’s question that doesn’t sound dirty, all low, flirtatious tones laced with unsettling innuendo. He doesn’t know how Joker does it but Clark suspects he’d feel more at home perusing Gotham’s red-light district than having this conversation.

“I’m not _paying_ you,” Clark specifies, vaguely concerned.

Joker throws the gun behind himself, careless, and reaches Clark in exactly two strides. Up close the Joker is taller than originally imagined and smells faintly of blood and popcorn. A heady combination that Clark doesn’t want to dwell on.

“No, no, don’t get me wrong! I’m up for it, of course,” Joker says, grasping desperately at the opportunity. His cold, bare hand wraps around Clark’s wrist.

“Great, the party is next week! If you could-”

“Should I wear a dress? A bow? A dress with a bow?”

Clark wonders, absurdly, if he’s accidentally showed up as Clark Kent. Superman has never been interrupted so many times in a single conversation before, not even by Lex.  _Especially_ not by Lex.

“I think a bow is fine,” Clark agrees, finally. He doesn’t particularly want to see the Joker in a dress but he’s not about to argue. And then, as he shakes Joker’s hand off his wrist and turns to leave, Clark adds, “No surprises, alright?” 

“Cross my heart and hope to die!” 

Joker grins but it’s earnest and he waves excitedly as Clark flies out of the tawdry little motel through the hole he made in the ceiling a little over fifteen minutes ago.

By the time Clark gets back to the Daily Planet, looking for all intents and purposes like he’s been working all night, the idea stops seeming quite so bad. He hitches up his sleeves and drapes his rumpled suit jacket over the back of his chair, content with just how convincing he's being.

What _do_ you get for the man who has everything anyway? A skinny murderous clown, apparently.

The Bat-glare he imagines in regards to that particular gift is remarkably similar to the one Lois gives him half an hour later when his article is still incomplete. Clark doesn’t really know what he’s gotten himself into.  
  
\---

The next time Clark visits Gotham, he finds the Joker balancing precariously on top of a fridge while Harley Quinn seems to be attempting to hit him with a broom. They’re engaged in a screaming match that remains nonsensical even after Clark floats through the open window.

It’s a rundown apartment in the East End this time, significantly easier to find, though Clark can’t tell whether he’s finally getting the hang of it or if Joker has simply made himself available.

The sudden silence is startling. Both clowns notice him at the same time and the combined force of their curious gazes briefly makes Clark consider coming back another time.

“Oh, thank god, you’re here!” Harley exclaims, letting the broom clatter to the floor as she takes a step closer to Clark. “See, I don’t have time for ‘im right now! Pammy’s waiting in the car already but hey, maybe you can explain the whole thing, right?”

Harley Quinn is, without a doubt, as much of a whirlwind as the Joker. Even in shorts and a crop-top, blonde pigtails bouncing with every move, she manages to be spectacularly intimidating. Clark is quietly amused as Harley’s five foot-nearly-nothing figure drags him closer to the fridge. Though what exactly he’s supposed to explain to Joker is beyond him. The terms had seemed clear enough at the time.

Clark’s blank look is taken as an invitation to continue, though Harley looks briefly disappointed as she adds, “ _He_ thinks you’re gonna bake him into the cake.”

It takes Clark a second to realise he’s the only one laughing. That can’t be right. In fact, Joker has been oddly silent this whole time, doing a very good impression of a cat stuck in a tree. Harley glances at an imaginary watch on her wrist and sighs exasperatedly.

“I gotta run!” she declares, rapidly gathering various knick-knacks strewn around the room into a bag that seems to have appeared out of thin air. “Jeez, you’d think Mr. Popularity here would have found some other friends by now but no, _I_ gotta explain everything.”

Harley stands on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Clark’s cheek then sticks her tongue out at Joker, who returns the gesture. Still, a shouted “see ya later, boo-boo” as Harley disappears out the door can’t mean they’re on the worst of terms.

“Did you really think you were gonna be part of the cake?” Clark asks, cautious. He’s not sure what’s likely to set Joker off.

Joker scoffs and says, “How else am I gonna jump outta it then?”

Bruce wasn’t kidding when he’d said Gotham criminals were in a class of their own. The party is in a day and Clark, once again, has too many deadlines to be wasting time assuring the Joker that his present for Batman’s birthday isn’t simply a ploy to murder him.

“It’s not a _real_ cake,” Clark says after a moment of thoroughly disbelieving silence. “It’s just cardboard and frosting, there’ll be real cake after that.”

Joker’s horrified gasp is unexpected, as is his mad scramble to get down from the fridge. The cat comparison occurs to Clark again and he wonders if he should proceed as he usually does. He’s a moment too late as Joker successfully manages to tip himself onto the floor with a grunt. How he got there in the first place isn’t something Clark is all too eager to ask, the argument he’d walked on earlier feels like explanation enough.

“I hope you know you’ve just ruined a hundred years worth of dreams,” Joker snaps as he dusts himself off. “Remember the cake guy in _Some Like It Hot_? _That_ looked real enough!”

Clark glances at a wardrobe’s worth of clothes thrown around all surfaces of the apartment and points out, distractedly, “That guy also shot to death everyone in the room.” He wisely neglects to mention the obvious cardboard of the cake in that certain scene.

A sort of squeak emerges from Joker’s lips and before Clark can as much as blink he finds a thin arm thrown around his shoulders, attached to a clown now pressed firmly against his side. He notices, belatedly, that last week’s smell of blood seems to have vanished.

“A man after my own heart!”

Then, voice suddenly dropping to a stage-whisper, Joker says, “I don’t think Bats has seen all the classics.” He looks positively mournful.

There’s not much Clark can say to that; he knows for a fact Bruce has seen more than enough 50’s films to make Joker’s day. He clears his throat, suddenly awkward in the presence of a Batman-shaped hole in the conversation, and hesitantly picks up a dress laying innocently right next to his boot. It’s a glittery little number with a dangerously low neckline. Clark can’t, or doesn’t want to, imagine the Joker in it.

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” Joker walks around the room as he talks -- his movements have the unconscious grace of a cruel, elegant animal. There is, even among today’s jovialities, a hint of the criminal Clark has heard so much about and hasn’t yet seen in action.

“See, Supes, the thing is I can’t do this teeny tiny favour for you if I don’t have anything to wear. And we wouldn’t want to disappoint Batsy now, would we?”

Clark’s gut is telling him Bruce might not be disappointed in the present itself but rather the choice of venue. He is, after all, bringing a notorious criminal into the league’s headquarters. Simultaneously, he also remembers he can’t exactly afford to come up with any other gift. Giving up on it doesn't seem like an option though, not when Joker's already much too excited about it. He sighs.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” he admits.

Joker seems to appreciate the direct approach; either that or he’s got a thing for touching Clark’s face. His grin is only slightly disconcerting. Clark reminds himself he’s dealt with far worse than whatever he’s about to walk into.

“Well, can’t say I haven’t thought about it!”  
  
\---

Clark’s first glimpse of Paris is a horizon full of glittering lights while Joker’s unnaturally bony knee digs into some particularly unfortunate part of him. From this height it doesn’t look all that different from any other city he’s visited. The circumstances are, at least, anything but ordinary.

It had taken them fifteen whole minutes to decide on a flight position that Joker had deemed _appropriate_. Clark doesn’t think the result is anything close to that, not with Joker holding onto him koala-like, but he’s not about to argue when Batman’s present is clinging to him over what’s most likely a twenty-storey fall.

“First time in Paris?” Joker asks, going through a sudden bout of worldliness, like he hasn’t been screaming his head off the whole flight.

“You’ve been here before?”

Clark doesn’t bother hiding his surprise -- the Joker is as much a staple of Gotham as Batman is. He can’t quite imagine the city in _his_ absence, even if he knows for a fact Bruce has been gone plenty of times.

“Betcha you wish that reporter lady were here,” Joker says, bypassing the question entirely and craning his neck to look at Clark. A giggle bursts out of him and he adds, as if he can’t quite wait, “Well, that’s too bad, sugarplum! Looks like we’ve got the city of love all to ourselves.”

A place to land that won’t bring them too much attention seems impossible to find and Clark flies towards what he hopes is a darkened alley on a street whose name he can’t quite pronounce. He’s more careful than usual but Joker had complained of a breakfast he’s not sure he’s had making a sudden reappearance if Clark takes any sharp turns.

Joker looks a little dazed once they stop but it doesn’t slow him down in the least; suddenly he’s walking rapidly to a destination only _he_ seems aware of. They must make an odd pair but, Clark hopes, not an entirely recognisable one.

Of course, Clark’s luck hasn’t been the best lately and if telltale flashes of camera phones are anything to go by, Superman and the Joker have been spotted together. He’s not sure what he’s expected; fame isn’t something he’s ever spent too much thinking about. Clark certainly hasn’t considered that Joker might be quite so well-known.

Paris is a lot colder than imagined, though Clark’s only aware of that by the way Joker seems intent on disappearing entirely within the purple trench-coat he’s wearing. He suddenly wishes they had at least thought to try to blend in.

Joker stops abruptly enough that Clark manages to walk straight into him. He doesn’t even flinch though, too engrossed in either his reflection in a store window or the store itself. Clark can’t really tell when it comes to Joker.

“Here!” Joker declares with a flourishing gesture. A moment later he’s already darted inside the most expensive-looking shop Clark has ever seen. There’s no time to attempt to guide him in the direction of something a little more feasible.

Clark follows but he tells himself it’s only in the interest of employees and other customers. The Joker let loose among high-end fashion _does_ sound like a recipe for disaster. Barely a minute has passed since Clark has stumbled his way inside and been accosted by a few shop attendants and Joker has already disappeared.

With a deeply dejected sigh, Clark slowly makes his way around the store. He misses the days of Kryptonite threats or alien invasions. Even dealing with Lex Luthor seems more appealing right now. Joker’s very own version of super speed seems to only make an appearance when the chances for being as frustrating as possible are off the charts.

Finally, a search of the dressing rooms yields some results. Oddly enough, Joker doesn’t look the least bit out of place here, tall and gaunt, garishly dressed and chatting excitedly in rapid-fire French with a woman Clark’s never seen before. He doesn’t understand a word of the conversation but the over-eager gestures to the woman’s ring seem pretty universal. Clark risks approaching.

“Supes! My new friend here just got engaged, ain’t that lovely?” Joker pulls him close and links their arms together.

The woman smiles shyly and Clark thinks she must recognise him. He opens his mouth to say something but then Joker tugs him in the opposite direction and all thoughts of politeness instantly vanish. Joker, he notices then, has about fifteen dresses thrown over one arm, all in vaguely different shades of purple.

“Are you going to try all of them on?”

Joker looks offended and doesn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead he hands Clark half of the dresses and ducks inside a dressing room with the rest.

Clark finds a less than comfortable leather couch and waits. He’s never been all that competitive but he does take some comfort in the idea that no one else in the league will think of a present along these lines. He’s not so sure that means anything good though, not with the way things have been going.

The first thing Clark notices when Joker finally emerges from the dressing room is the fact that somewhere along the line Joker has traded his usual shoes, along with off-white spats, for a pair of high heels, as if he wasn’t already tall enough. The dress he’s wearing, covered in glitter and feathers, is not too dissimilar to something a flapper might wear, though much longer. It doesn’t attempt to mask Joker’s lack of curves but the evening gloves he’s pulled on complete the look.

Clark observes all of this with a sort of detached horror as the Joker strides towards him, perfectly at home in his new shoes. He tries to school his features into something that doesn’t betray any pressing concerns about Bruce’s sanity.

Joker plops down on Clark’s lap, grinning ear to ear. Clark can’t quite figure out how Joker manages to blend in so seamlessly here -- there’s no jarring contrast between this ridiculous shopping trip and his usual repertoire on moonlit rooftops.

“Well?” Joker prompts, stabbing pointedly at the _S_ on Clark’s chest with a bony finger.

Blinking slowly, as if he’s just woken up or, more likely, attempting to communicate some sort of distress signal to no one in particular, Clark forces a smile. “It’s...nice?” he says at last.

That doesn’t seem to satisfy Joker in the least. He huffs and jumps up. Before he walks into the dressing room once more, he calls out, “ _Nice_? Don’t use that one on the reporter, Big Blue, just don’t.”

Clark’s never gone shopping with Lois but then again, he’s never been to Paris with her either. He tries not to think about the alarming number of firsts he’s experiencing with Joker.

It’s about an hour into Joker trying on profoundly disappointing dresses that Clark starts wondering why it had to be a _dress_ specifically. He hasn’t questioned much of Joker’s motive so far but the party is tomorrow and Clark’s still got a number of deadlines to meet. Any excuses will be even less convincing than usual if Lois has seen the pictures no doubt plastered all across social media.

Clark is considering just flying home and leaving Gotham’s not-so-favourite clown in Paris, at the risk of guilt flaring up later, when Joker reappears. This time he’s chosen a deep purple dress, backless and with a slit going up to mid-thigh, where an abnormally white leg, apparently waxed smooth, peeks through. It’s got a few sequins thrown here and there but compared to Joker’s usual choice it’s downright modest.

“I think this is the one!”

Joker sounds the most excited Clark’s ever heard him and that _is_ certainly telling something.

Clark nods but then, on second thought, adds, “I can’t...actually pay for that, you know.” Maybe he should have mentioned it from the get-go.

Joker doesn’t look disappointed though, not in the least. “Oh, I know,” he says and there’s a hand petting Clark’s hair, as if it was naive of him to even bring that up.

Before Clark even has time to react, Joker is sprinting across the store, heels clicking on the tiled floor. He’s not even collected his clothes from the dressing room. Clark freezes for a second, startled, as he meets the eyes of several employees. He groans and immediately flies after Joker.

It’s not hard catching up to Joker, who isn’t exactly aided by Rue Saint-Honoré’s crowded sidewalks nor the distinct lack of an ability to fly. He seems to be shivering slightly and stops walking as soon as Clark appears next to him.

“You don’t mind being made an accessory to theft, right?” Joker asks, sounding like he’s genuinely checking. He seems to be shivering slightly.

“I do, actually,” Clark clarifies but he’s wrapping his cape around Joker. He’s about to take them back to Gotham when his phone rings and his blood runs cold. It’s Bruce. He can’t simply ignore the call, he doesn’t think he’s ever done it before.

“Did you turn evil?” is the first thing Clark hears as he picks up. Bruce’s voice slips into the all too familiar Batman monotone. “Again?”

Clark doesn’t think he’s ever turned evil before, not for any significant period of time at least. He frowns and lays a steadying hand on Joker’s shoulder; the clown seems ready to dart off at any given moment.

“What? No!” Clark looks around himself. The street is far too noisy to pass for the Daily Planet at this hour. “I’m at work,” he says anyway, already defeated. It’s bad enough that he can’t say much of anything with Joker around.

“There are pictures of you in Paris.” Bruce’s reply is immediate and more than a little concerning. “With Joker.”

Clark cringes and tries to move towards the alley they’d originally landed in. It’s a little too late for that, the conversation seems to have already sparked Joker’s interest, as unlikely as it is that he’s actually heard Bruce’s voice. Maybe it’s simply a matter of intuition -- he wouldn’t put it past Joker at this point.

“I’m with Lois. Look, you can call her if you don’t believe _me_.”

Clark isn’t sure Lois would actually cover for him but it would at least give him the few minutes needed to make it back to Metropolis.

All hope abruptly crumbles when Joker mouths, “Lois Lane?” and Clark briefly sees his life flash before his eyes. His life, apparently, consists mostly of all the times he’s secretly fed Shelby during dinner back at the farm.

He doesn’t even manage to catch what Bruce says, all he knows is that he hasn’t hung up yet.

“And you’re absolutely certain you’re not in Paris with Joker?” Bruce repeats, exhausted. There’s an echo in the background and the thought of one of those pictures on the Bat-computer’s huge screen doesn’t bode well for Clark.

“Yeah, obviously I’m-” he starts at the same time Joker yells, directly in his ear, “Oh, Superman!”

Joker’s voice has turned high-pitched and grating, though decidedly unfeminine. For a few agonising seconds Clark can’t quite figure out _what_ he’s trying to do.

“Let me touch your super muscles!” Joker shouts again, helpfully reminding Clark that this is apparently supposed to be his Lois Lane impression. If people weren’t staring until then, that certainly brings them more than enough unwanted attention.

“That’s _Lois_?” Bruce asks, sounding scandalized, just as Clark tries to get Joker to shut up through a series of increasingly erratic gestures.

“She’s got a cold,” Clark insists, even as he considers losing Joker in the crowd. It’s not a good idea, not with everything Joker tends to get up to, but the reveal of his present for Bruce seems that much more imminent.

“Look, I’m really running late with some articles. I’ll call you when I get home, alright?”

That much _is_ true and Clark can breathe a little easier knowing he hasn’t lied to Bruce beyond all measure. He ends the call with some trepidation and tucks the phone back in his belt. The realisation that he’s apparently accidentally left Joker behind is immediate and brings little relief.

“Superman, I love you!”

The Joker is, of course, impossible to get rid of. Clark can’t imagine why he worries. He picks Joker up with ease and flies up into the sky. There’s no point in trying to be elusive here.  
  
\--- 

The trip to Gotham is uneventful, albeit this time Joker insists on being carried bridal style on account of being entirely wrapped up in Clark’s cape. Clark feels a little naked without it but just how ridiculous Joker looks, nothing but his sharp face peeking from within the cocoon he’s built for himself, almost makes it worth it.

They’ve passed through a storm on their way here and Clark feels bad enough that he lands directly in front of the first 24/7 diner he spots. Joker looks a little bit like a drowned rat as he tumbles out of Clark’s arms, make-up streaking down his cheeks and green hair sticking out in all directions.

“I was thinking we could get dinner-”

“Breakfast.”

Clark looks around himself, at the dim morning light and the already fully animated city. It must be close to 5 AM but Gotham seems to sleep as rarely as Joker himself does.

They walk into the diner in silence -- amicable rather than foreboding, definitely a welcome change. Joker has the soaking wet cape still pulled tightly around himself but it doesn’t quite cover the whole dress nor his brand new heels. The few patrons scattered around don’t blink an eye at the apparition.

What exactly _do_ Gothamites deal with on a daily basis? Clark isn’t so sure he wants to know. Whatever it is, it seems much worse than the regular alien invasions Metropolis experiences.

They find a booth shoved into a corner and Joker deems it necessary to sit on the same side as Clark. Clark finds he doesn’t mind all that much. It seems outright tame after Paris.

It occurs to him they must both be exhausted. Clark certainly feels like he’s just returned from a particularly harrowing Justice League mission. He groans.

“What?” Joker asks, hinting at some real concern somewhere in there. It takes Clark a moment to notice Joker is in the process of re-attaching the cape to the Superman costume.

“The party’s tonight.”

And Superman has been spotted in public with the Joker and Clark Kent has missed two deadlines and ignored four phone calls from both Lois Lane and Bruce Wayne. It’s not looking good.

Clark has his doubts about whether it’s all worth it but it doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that needs to be shared with Joker.

“So? It’ll be great! But hey, make sure not to let in any kiddies, alright? Things between me and Bats can get pretty intense.”

Joker grins and Clark tries very hard not to picture any of that. He has seen Bruce fight Joker exactly once before and ‘ _pretty intense_ ’ feels like an intentional understatement. Why Bruce had needed to get so up close and personal remains a mystery to this day, not elucidated even by Bruce’s admitted ill-fated fondness for his nemesis.

The diner is a fifties style affair, complete with a jukebox and decor bright enough to look out of place in Gotham. Oddly enough, it reminds Clark of Smallville and he might love it just a little bit, even if it means having to put up with Joker.

They’re both getting restless by the time they’re finally approached by a waitress, looking wary but not all that surprised to see Joker. Her eyes keep straying to Clark, though there’s no alarm in there, merely good-natured confusion. It’s a look Clark’s slowly getting accustomed to.

“So, what’ll it be, boys?” she asks, clearly aiming for bubbly and missing the mark. Clark appreciates the effort all the same.

Instead of answering the question, Joker helpfully exclaims, “We’re on a date!” while grabbing Clark’s arm. Clark smiles indulgently and orders an omelette while carefully extracting himself from Joker’s grip.

Meanwhile, Joker’s order includes but is not limited to two full stacks of pancakes, several muffins and two cups of coffee. Clark wishes Joker hadn’t folded the menu into some elaborate yet incomprehensible shape before he’d actually gotten a chance to glance at the prices.

“You’re picking me up tonight, right?”

Joker’s eyes have gone impossibly wide as he bats his eyelashes at Clark. The effect isn’t wasted on him, even as Clark worries Joker really does believe they’re on a date.

“Yeah, of course,” Clark agrees, easily, like he’s not in the middle of one of his stranger dreams.

Whatever Joker might have wanted to say is lost the moment the waitress reappears with their breakfast. Surprisingly fast but that might solely be Joker’s effect on customer service. Clark gets the impression it’s not the first time this kind of thing has happened. His thoughts trail off though as he finds himself watching with horrified fascination as Joker dumps seven packets of sugar in his coffee.

“Is that-” Clark starts but almost thinks better of it. Whatever investigative journalist instincts he’s got win over eventually. “Is that how you usually drink coffee?”

Joker’s already managed to shove a significant amount of pancakes in his mouth and he nearly chokes as he attempts to swallow and answer at the same time. The hours spent with him have been an illuminating experience for Clark, if nothing else. He nods vigorously.

“Yup! But forget that, you’ve gotta try these, Supes, they’re _amazing_ ,” Joker finally gets out as he proceeds to push his plate towards Clark. It’s not an entirely selfless gesture; Joker commandeers half his omelette while Clark is otherwise occupied.

“They _are_ amazing.”

Clark is surprised, though unable to say what he had expected.

He wonders, vaguely, when’s the last time Joker has eaten but quickly decides that’s a dangerous train of thought. It might easily be the kind of thing that has led Bruce where he currently is. Clark only has an inkling of _what_ exactly is going on between Bruce and Joker but has managed to dig up enough to know there’s a big chance he won’t get kicked out of the league at tonight’s party.  
  
\---

Joker looks out of place in the harsh light of a deceivingly bright Gotham morning, sat on the windowsill of the apartment they had left a little over four hours ago. It feels much longer, Clark can attest to that.

Breakfast had actually gone without a hitch and they’d made it back in time for sunrise. Clark thinks he might have become just a little desentized to the kind of weirdness Bruce’s city has to offer.

He might not have agreed to Joker’s desire to be dropped off “ _Peter Pan-style_ ”, whatever that might have meant, yesterday but for better or worse, there had been a fundamental shift somewhere along the line.

“Well,” Joker says as he finally manages to get the window open from the outside, “thanks for showing a gal a good time.”

“It was...fun,” Clark admits and even that feels like he might be giving too much away.

The smile he’s offered in return is almost charming and Clark lets himself float a little closer, breathe a little easier. Though, a second later when a kiss is pressed to his cheek, Clark knows he shouldn’t have let his guard down. It’s a little wet as far as kisses on the cheek go and over before he can think to react.

“See you tonight, sweetheart.”

And with that promise, Joker slips inside the apartment and Clark flies off at last.

“The things I do for you,” he mumbles as he passes the unlit searchlight that serves as the Bat-Signal.  
  
\---

As the lights come on and everyone yells “surprise!”, a batarang bounces around the room until it hits Clark squarely in the face. It sort of sinks to the floor, not leaving a single scratch in its wake, but he can’t help thinking they really should have learned something from last year.

 _Don’t surprise Batman in a darkened room_ seems obvious enough until the logistics of planning a surprise party without that crucial element intervene. Bruce is still standing in the doorway, in full Batman regalia, looking particularly suspicious.

Last year the target of what has now become a customary batarang was some of Alfred’s very expensive china so holding the party in the watchtower had seemed like a natural fix. Clark’s not so sure now, even if it’s really only the founding members of the league. From what he’s heard, Bruce has already been subjected to one party with his family.

Diana is the first to move, handing Bruce a neatly wrapped present and pulling him into a tight hug. It takes him a long moment to respond but then, when he seems fully convinced he’s not about to be stabbed, he throws himself into it.

The party proceeds as planned and if Bruce notices the lack of present from Clark or the fact that Clark is unnecessarily jumpy, he doesn’t bring any attention to it. It’s odd. Bruce notices _everything_.

Clark’s hand is sweaty around the champagne glass he’s holding just for show and he actually unintentionally flies up a little as Bruce finally approaches him.

“Thanks.” And then, frowning as if he needs to talk himself into it, Bruce adds, “For the party.”

It’s not quite Batman’s low growl nor Bruce Wayne’s drawl. Clark smiles nervously and absurdly watches himself shake hands with his best friend of countless years. Bruce isn’t quite himself, withdrawn even for his standards. It feels a little bit like a revelation when it finally dawns on Clark.

“I’m not evil?” he tries, the Paris suspicions, no doubt, still fresh in Bruce's mind.

There’s a hint of a smile sketched on Bruce’s mouth. He thinks this is _funny_ , Clark realises with startling clarity and it doesn’t help in the least. He gestures vaguely in the direction of the door as he manages to say something about having to bring in the cake.

Clark makes it to the cafeteria in record time, even if it’s not too far from the conference room as it is. The cake is still there, standing tall, nearly identical to the real cake he stashed away in the kitchen. A quick glance inside reveals the Joker somewhere between laughing and hyperventilating. Clark frowns, worried.

“Everything okay?”

“What?” Joker snaps, muffled but a little breathless. Clark can’t help feeling like he’s interrupted something.

“It’s almost show time.”

That gets another laugh out of Joker and Clark can only hope he manages to keep quiet until the big reveal.  
  
\---

Joker does not, in fact, manage to stay silent.

“Did the cake...giggle?” Diana asks as Clark makes a valiant effort to stand around and _not_ look guilty. He’s only halfway through the door but stops to lean, casually, against the cake until he realises he’s getting frosting on his hand.

“...No.”

Clark’s not entirely sure how they’re supposed to go about this and some part of him, possibly the very same that came up with this disaster in the first place, wants to rely on Joker’s natural predisposition for showmanship.

Everyone gathers around the cake as it’s placed firmly in the middle of the room. Clark desperately wishes for some alarm to sound.

Instead of the sweet relief of work, what Clark gets is a faceful of fake cake as the Joker jumps out at just the right moment. Already dwindling conversations come to a screeching halt. Nobody moves for a long, agonising moment.

“Happy birthday!” Joker shouts, sing-song and loud enough to echo. The dress has slipped down one bony shoulder but if anything, it only adds to whatever reaction Joker is going for.

Bruce looks exhausted, lips drawn to a thin line, and Clark doesn’t dare peek behind the white lenses of the cowl. They might laugh about it later, as unlikely as it seems, but currently Clark thinks he’s getting a lot closer to being launched into outer space than getting a pat on the back.

Joker is, predictably, the first to move and as he gracelessly stumbles out of the cake, he launches into a doubtfully flirty rendition of ‘ _Happy Birthday_ ’. Clark glances between the rapidly approaching clown and Bruce and sees no significant change. He tries to blend in the background. Bruce shoots him a far too knowing look, worryingly expressive for someone who’s only got half his face on display.

“Batsy doesn’t like his present?” Joker asks, mimicking a tear trailing down his cheek. He presses a resounding kiss to Bruce’s cheek and that, at last, seems to spur everyone into action, even if it mostly amounts to a cacophony of surprised noises and Joker’s attempt at a disappearing act.

Bruce throws himself bodily at Joker and manages to grasp the back of his dress. Clark winces as it rips and Joker disappears through the door, Bruce hot on his trail. _That_ was a very expensive dress that could have been returned.

“That’s…?” Wally gapes a little at the place where Bruce and Joker stood a moment ago. He makes a face that can’t mean anything good for Clark and wordlessly closes the door. It’s a well-established rule that no one gets involved in Batman business.  
  
\---

It’s another half hour of trying to explain what Clark himself doesn’t understand too well and half-hearted reassurances that he _really_ hasn’t gone out of his mind just yet, when it’s finally decided Bruce is probably already back in Gotham and they shouldn’t let the real cake go to waste.

That’s how he finds Bruce sitting cross-legged in a corner of the kitchen, spoon-feeding a very tied up Joker. There’s a worrying amount of lipstick smudged all around Bruce’s cowl.

“You found the cake,” Clark remarks and it’s only all the time he’s spent with Joker lately that keeps surprise from bleeding into his tone.

“It’s good.”

A compliment of that calibre means the world coming from Bruce. Joker nods and nudges Bruce’s cheek until he’s fed another spoonful.

As Clark walks out of the room, not quite ready for the barrage of questions that’s not doubt about to follow, it occurs to him both Bruce and Joker look oddly at ease, even _happy_.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad present after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
>  
> 
> [Find me on tumblr.](http://ufonaut.tumblr.com/)


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